And the Seconds Danced
by MorganBonny
Summary: The pirates have come to kidnap Elizabeth, and Estrella's gone to find the only man who can save her. But the house is empty and with every second that passes the Black Pearl sails farther and farther out of reach...CotBP


And the Seconds Danced

Fanfiction: Pirates of the Caribbean: CotBP

Rating: K+ for mild violence and swearing

Characters: Estrella, Norrington, Groves, Gillette and Governor Swann

Disclaimer: Don't own them, aren't making any money. All credit to the big-eared mouse. Reviews greatly appreciated.

The pirates have come to kidnap Elizabeth, and Estrella's gone to find the only man who can save her. But the house is empty and with every second that passes the _Black Pearl_ sails farther and farther out of reach...

Somehow the door still stood open before her and Estrella hitched up her skirts in both hands, leaped over the still body in the entryway with a pang of horror and fled into the night.

All around her, men and women were shouting and screaming. People struggled for life in the streets and she shrieked in terror as another cannonball whirred through the air and shattered the front window of a residence just behind her. She tripped over what felt horribly like a body and fell flat, scraping deep gouges in her knees and bloodying her hands. She dragged herself up and ran on, too terrified to do anything else.

Miss Swann had told her to go up to the fort. She had implied it would be safe there. So that was where she was bound.

She choked in horror as a small boy crossed her path, screaming horribly and covered in blood, and veered away, one hand over her mouth. She ran almost blindly, stumbling over her shoes and the debris in the street. Black, oily clouds of smoke were pouring out of the windows of the shops along the street, and suddenly, the glass blew out from a tremendous explosion within.

Estrella screamed, throwing herself flat, as rancid heat boiled over her, minute shards of glass freckling her skin and drawing small dots of blood, flame roaring in her ears. And then the explosion had died, and with a small whimper of fear, she pulled herself to her feet. Blood was running down her face; she couldn't see, pain had split her forehead nearly in two. The sight of so much of her own blood sickened her, but she gathered her wits, cleared her vision with the hem of her skirt and ran on. She had to reach the fort.

Bodies littered the streets, but whether they were dead or unconscious, she did not know, nor did she dare look too close as she darted between them. Animals ran here and there among the dead, horses were neighing in wild terror, there were gunshots and blood-curdling cries.

She was shoved roughly aside as a motley group of ragged pirates came swaggering gleefully past, their arms laden with an ominous mixture of weapons and loot. A scream rose in her throat, barely holding back bile, but the pirates paid her no more attention than to roar with laughter at the scene around them and toss several lewd comments her way as they passed.

As soon as they were gone, she was running again.

~^///^~

Fort Charles was in no less of a state of confusion. Marines were hurrying back and forth, officers rode through at top speed, and orders were shouted in a regimented sort of chaos. Estrella ducked as another cannonball hammered the battlements with a terrible scream and a thunderous crack, sending rock flying through the air. When the air had cleared, she stared wildly around, doing her best to block out the agonized shrieking somewhere above. Where to go now? She was hardly safer here than in the streets, and none of these men looked as if they would pause long enough to hear her out. Who would help her? Who would save Miss Swann?

Suddenly, over the persistent explosions, flashes of fire, and the cries of the injured and frightened, she heard a clear, confident voice ring out over the battlements.

"Steady, men! Wait for the flash! We'll have them fear us yet!"

The Commodore. He would help Miss Swann, if no one else would.

With new intent, she bolted through the door and up the stairs, dodging a contingent of Marines who seemed not even to notice her. No one paid her any mind as she ran, so she followed the shaking in the stone walls, climbing up stairs and down, completely lost with no one to ask where to go. Finally, she found a set of stairs that seemed to lead straight up and shot up them, clutching her skirts. Broken stone choked the passage and gaping holes shone out into the perilous darkness and the flaring gold and orange of the _Black Pearl_'s guns, but above her, she could hear men shouting and the booming of the cannon.

She threw open a door at the top and found herself on the battlements at last. Everywhere she looked were patches of red and blue and men yelling commands back and forth. Where was he? She felt a moment of panic, feeling terribly exposed on the top of these high walls.

And then: "Sight for the line and sink her! Keep your heads down, men. Groves! See to the starboard supply and keep the twenty-pounders steady!" She turned instinctively toward his voice, and there he was, hands clasped behind him, back straight, staring out at the dark ocean and the black predator that basked there, orders pouring off of him in a calm, rigid voice, seemingly without more than a thought.

"We'll get these devils yet! Steady, men, steady! Keep her firing!"

Estrella flew across the battlements toward him, feeling hope, for the first time that night, light her chest. "Commodore!" she cried as she ran, "Sir!"

He turned as she reached him, a bit of alarm in his eyes, and suddenly, the section of the wall in front of him blew up. Estrella shrieked, and Norrington grabbed her and dragged her out of harm's way, holding her to his chest and sheltering her from the blast. For an instant, the death-fear in his bright green eyes was inches from her own and then she buried her face in his shoulder as she felt him flinch and waver under the shrapnel and the force of the explosion. Stepping back, he held her shoulders firmly and looked into her eyes until she stopped trembling and whimpering.

"What are you doing here?"

She did not think he recognized her, but it was imperative that he understand. "Commodore, there's pirates in the Governor's mansion! They're after Miss Swann!"

For a heartbeat, it did not seem as if her words had gotten through; he continued to stare at her for a very long second. And then the color drained from his face and some emotion that was too vast to comprehend joined the battle-light in his eyes.

He whirled around and shouted down the battlements, "Groves! Take charge here!" The two men's eyes met, Theodore twitching a little as a cannon went off beside him, and something seemed to pass between them; in any event Groves did not question this order in the slightest, but yelled, "Aye, sir!" and spun about again, crying, "Re-sight her in, boys, she's banked on the swell!"

"Gillette–!" Norrington shouted again, but his words were drowned in the thunder of the guns and Estrella caught but pieces. "– need – of men – with me – as able as can be – as you can!"

Evidently Gillette understood him, however, for he immediately saluted and ran off, throwing his arms over his head as another cannonball sailed in.

Estrella saw that she had gotten blood all over the front of Norrington's coat and she reached up with a tentative hand to feel her face. Her fingers came away dark and sticky and her eyelashes were gumming together, making seeing difficult. She followed the heavy ribbon of blood up her cheek, over her eyebrow and up to her forehead, where her careful fingers found a hard, sharp object embedded in her hairline. She gave a soft cry of pain, drawing her fingers back as if burned, and biting her lip to keep from sobbing as pain flared across her scalp and fresh blood trickled down over her features.

Norrington turned back to Estrella, who ducked as the stone quaked beneath her and a fiery explosion lit the night.

"It is not safe here."

Estrella gazed at him hopelessly. Where had she to go? "Please, sir, don't just leave me!"

"Have you nowhere to go?"

She shook her head, tears starting in her eyes.

"Then you'll come with me." He started off immediately across the battlements at a half-run and Estrella hurried to catch up with him.

He ran down the stairs and when she stumbled in her haste to follow him, he turned, something desperate on his face, and taking her hand, dragged her after him. She did not know where they were going; she'd never been in the fort before, but he took a sudden left turn, with her stumbling along behind and threw open a set of tall wooden doors.

"Wait."

He emerged a moment later, leading a handsome chestnut mare, tackless save a bridle, who snorted at the smell of fire in the air. Norrington's eyes took in Estrella's stature and her skirts, and he kicked a nearby crate over alongside the horse and leaped into the saddle, explaining, "I shall need my hands."

Estrella climbed nervously up onto the crate, and with his help, swung one leg up over the mare until she sat bareback, hastily tugging her skirts back down over her knees. When she had shyly wrapped her arms loosely around him, he immediately wheeled the mare around and cantered through the entry hall and out the main doors into the night.

It was very dark and they rode very fast. Estrella had not had occasion to ride more than once or twice in her life and certainly never like this. She jolted in the saddle and tightened her grip, feeling awkward and very foolish. She wished she were not quite so afraid.

Norrington guided the mare through the streets with a deft precision, leaping bodies and dodging groups of frightened people.

He changed course suddenly, spurring the horse, and, with a quick movement, drew a pistol, leveled it with careful aim and fired. Estrella flinched terribly at the noise and peered around him. She immediately wished she hadn't been so morbidly curious: a fair-haired man in filthy clothes lay sprawled across the road, valuables spilling from his arms, even from this distance a neat hole visibly drilled through the back of his head. Estrella averted her gaze, praying she wasn't going to be sick, as Norrington holstered the pistol, pulled the horse to the left and rode on, the dark night rushing past them.

The fog speeding past her ears muffled the sound, but she could still hear horrible cries, shouts and laughter all around them. Norrington fired once more, but Estrella squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head and did not look to see the effect. Then they were through the main part of town and Estrella felt the horse's gait shift, faster, rougher, the mare's hooves like gunshots against the hard packed ground, the darkness pressing close against her eyelids. She felt as though she would slide off the horse at any moment, but she was embarrassed enough to have her arms around the Commodore to begin with, let alone even think of doubling her grip.

There came a sudden, sharp, shattering bang, and fire danced across her eyelids. Her eyes flew open as the mare neighed in terror and suddenly the world tilted sharply. Estrella shrieked as she toppled backward and grabbed at Norrington by sheer reflex, but he was sliding too, his weight pressing back on her, pushing her off the horse, as the mare stood on her back legs and kicked at the sky. Lunging back, her locked his arm around her waist to stop her fall and threw himself forward against the mare's withers, shouting, "Down!" His grip was hurting her ribs, but the emptiness behind and below her terrified her more still. She threw her arms around him and leaned with him, her face pressed into the back of his coat, feeling the tautness of his muscles and the warmth of his body, clinging to the horse with her knees and praying to God that the mare would come down.

All four hooves hit the ground with an abrupt jolt and Estrella's jaw smacked into Norrington's shoulder. The mare sidestepped nervously and backed away. Norrington fought to control her and finally got her to stand still, snorting nervously and pawing the ground.

Estrella was lying across his back, trembling in terror and gasping faintly. Norrington drew his arm back and turned his head to look at her, his brilliant eyes reassuring and inches away, and she flushed a bright crimson and sat up hurriedly, scooting back so that he was no longer sitting between her legs. His expression was unreadable, but he faced front again before he inquired, "Are you alright, miss?"

"Yes," she replied shakily, "th-thank you, sir, I'm fine."

"Then we go on." He patted the mare's neck comfortingly and soothed, "There, girl, come on, lady, there you are." He urged her forward with his knees; she balked and crabstepped away, and, peering over Norrington's shoulder, Estrella could see why: one of the houses along the wayside had caught fire and become a veritable furnace, and on the other side of the road, a second burned with grim merriment. The fire-setters whooped away into the darkness somewhere, and Norrington paused to reload both guns before digging his heels into the mare's flanks once again. Again, she refused to go forward, but bridled from the flames and instead moved in nervous, jerky, sideways motions.

"We've got to," he insisted, irritation growing in his tone, "We've got to go forward, lady. Come on, now, I won't let it hurt you."

The mare seemed to take this as a promise or maybe she just sensed his building frustration, either way, with a frightened snort, she bolted forward, head low, and dashed past the burning building. Estrella was forced to hold tight once more, still blushing furiously, as they thundered through the night, leaving the fire behind them once more.

Estrella closed her eyes, the mare's muscles gathering beneath her as if to throw her off as the horse gathered speed, hoofbeats over loud in her ears. She felt frightened and sick and embarrassed and she now wished she had never come with. Her forehead burned with a fiery intensity and she briefly considered pulling whatever object was lodged there out, but finally decided that would be no help and possibly be more harm, nor did she think she had enough nerve.

The night sped past unceasingly; she could not imagine how the distance she had run could possibly take this long on horseback. And then they were slowing and she opened her eyes to see that they were riding through the gates that led up to the mansion and that Norrington had drawn a pistol and sat straighter, warily.

"Did you see what happened?" he asked softly, but Estrella thought she detected the faintest of breaks in his voice.

"No, sir, she told me to hide, and first chance I should run for the fort. So when the pirates broke down the door after her, I ran for it." There was shame in her tone; she should have done something, tried to stop the pirates in some way, but even now she could think of no way she could have accomplished this.

"She may have need of you, then," Norrington said, even softer still, spurring the horse onward, and Estrella's hand came to her mouth in horror as she realized what he meant.

~^///^~

Light blazed out over the steps from the open door, but save for the continued shots and screams from the town below, all was silent. James Norrington stepped cautiously over the threshold, Estrella just behind him, and looked quickly around. A man lay dead in the doorway, the wreckage of a chandelier lay sprawled across the floor and a shattered and twisted door marked the passage of a cannonball. He stepped carefully over the body, hearing Estrella give a faint whimper behind him.

"Where was she last?" he asked, and his own voice seemed loud in the quiet house.

"Upstairs, there, in her chamber." Estrella skirted the body with an expression of horrified disgust and pointed with a shaking hand.

Quickly, Norrington ascended the stairs, indicating with a motion of his hand that Estrella should follow. He was more afraid of what he might find there than he thought he may have ever been.

He knew well the stories of the _Black Pearl_ and the wreckage and disaster she left in her wake. He had seen the hollow, tortured eyes of women trembling in blood-stained skirts when he knew and they knew that no one could help them, and if those men had so much as touched Elizabeth, if they had raped her – he closed his eyes at the thought – he did not think he could handle it, would not know what to do for her, save vow to murder them all. He glanced back at Estrella, wide-eyed and trembling, and took an odd kind of comfort from her presence, from not having to face whatever awaited him alone.

At the top of the stairs, he pushed open the door the rest of the way with his foot, pistol steady in his hand. There were ash and coals scattered across the carpet, and he bent swiftly and held them in his hand. They did not burn him, but there was still heat in them; much time could not have passed since they were spilled.

He kicked them aside and stepped into the room. There was no sign of anything amiss beyond that, though the sounds of continuing carnage drifted in through an open window.

He turned to Estrella, who stood, wringing her hands, her eyes flickering over the room. "If you would, miss."

She looked at him, swallowed and nodded. With careful deliberation, she moved through the room, checking all places Elizabeth may have hid and calling, "Miss?" softly, while Norrington covered her with the gun and tried not to dwell on the evil thoughts that continued to occupy his head. Finally, Estrella straightened and declared, "She's not here, sir."

Without a word, Norrington spun and strode back out into the hall, fear mounting even as relief washed over him. A ways down the hall, another door stood broken in, and he proceeded cautiously, Estrella just behind him.

This room, too, was empty, but a brace of mounted swords lay abandoned in the middle of the floor, and a small rug in front of a closet just to the left lay folded back and trampled. Standing in the middle of the floor, Norrington could almost see how things had played out.

Elizabeth had locked herself in and tried to obtain a weapon; failing in this, she had hid herself in the closet, where, presumably, she had been found.

He crossed to the closet and looked inside. The articles within had been pressed down, as though a person had shrank back in fear and the doors stood open and the rug crumpled, as though that person had then been dragged away. Fear clutched at his throat and he gave the room a quick search, but found nothing more than another open window.

Back out in the hall, he stood on the landing, scanning the empty, silent hall for any sign, anything to tell him that his beloved was still here, alive and unharmed. But there was nothing, no sound or movement beyond the faint continuing madness carrying on in the streets far below and the low, repetitive tick of a clock somewhere.

He noted as he stood, the gun loose at his side, that the cannonfire seemed to have stopped. The pirates, it seemed, had gone, having accomplished the chaos they came for.

For an instant, his nerves failed him and his knees buckled slightly. Gone, then. Taken. Kidnapped by pirates. Or else left, broken, somewhere among the wreckage.

No.

He would not think that.

She could still be here, somewhere, having escaped and hid or fled. She _would_ be here, somewhere.

He felt a hand on his arm and glanced down, surprised, to see Estrella standing there. He had almost forgotten she was here. Her cheeks were bright pink again and she looked positively astonished at her own bravery at daring to approach him like this, but, strangely, her touch imparted a measure of hope and strength to him.

They had to keep searching.

He looked at her and for the first time, fully appreciated the amount of courage it must have taken for her to come through the violence in the streets and maze of the fort to find him, and then to leave that safety and come on a wild ride through the dark with him. He should never have brought her and yet he knew, as he had the instant those horrid words had fallen from her lips atop the battlements, that he would not be able to deal with a victimized Elizabeth, and that he could not face the silence of this ransacked house alone. He nodded to her in thanks and then straightened with a will and resumed his search.

Though they thoroughly combed every room, growing increasingly desperate, they found nothing but several looted rooms, three servant girls hidden in the kitchen who shrieked in terror and nearly shot him when he opened the door and a scattering of valuables around the wrecked door, as though one of the pirates had been knocked off his feet by the cannon blast and had not bothered to gather all the dropped loot. He took the gun from the girls before they killed someone and told them to wait; he would have an Marine escort take them up to Fort Charles.

And then he went back into the main room to wait for the soldiers he'd told Gillette to send. He seated himself on a small chair against the wall, and after awhile, Estrella came over and sat beside him. He did not dispute her presence, but he found he had nothing to say to her. He almost wished she would go; he did not like appearing weak, as he surely must.

Norrington closed his eyes and propped his head back against the wall. Surely if she had escaped, she would have run up to the fort...? Or at least come back here, when the guns had stopped and the ship departed, when she knew it was safe?

The ticking of the clock was beginning to annoy him. Eighteen seconds since he'd tipped back his head. Twenty-four since he'd closed his eyes. He did not like to think of all those seconds. Seconds since she had gone, seconds within which she could be bleeding, dying, seconds in which all manner of evils could occur. All the seconds that had passed since Estrella had found him on the wall. Seconds. _Twenty seconds more..._

A soft noise intruded on the banging of the clock and he opened his eyes as he realized that Estrella was crying softly. He looked over at her; thin, silver tears were slipping down her cheeks, mingling in the blood that was there, her head bowed over her lap and her shoulders shaking almost silently and for the first time, he really noticed that she had blood all over one side of her face.

He stood up, glad for something to do, and headed toward the kitchen. There had to be some water here somewhere. When he opened the door, the servants screamed again, but once they had quieted, he asked them for a pitcher of water, two glasses and some clean cloth.

He was a man of action, and even this simple errand, watching the girls hunt around for his requests, flustered and shaking, gave him a sense of hope.

When he had what he wanted, he went back out into the hall. Estrella had not moved, but her shoulders shook a little less, and she was surreptitiously drying her eyes on her skirts and the heels of her hands.

Norrington sat down beside her, setting the pitcher and glasses on the floor, and said gently, "Let me see your face."

She looked up at him shyly, but some of her old manner seemed to have returned, and she quickly fixed her gaze back on her knees, though she lifted her head so that he could see that the blood had flowed down in a broad streak from a single point just below her hairline.

Norrington dipped one of the cloths in the water, carefully took her face in his hands and blotted away the blood that had run down across her jaw.

Estrella's face flamed into a brilliant scarlet at his touch and her startled eyes met his. She looked thoroughly ashamed at the way she was behaving and he drew his hands back as she hurriedly dropped her eyes to her lap. When he judged that she had sufficiently overcome her embarrassment, he resumed blotting the dried blood from her face, and though she still blushed enough to make him feel incredibly awkward, she kept her eyes firmly fixed on her folded hands on her knees as if to say, '_that_ is _not_ my fault'.

She closed her lids and he did his best to clear up the blood there without gouging her in the eye, and when he had cleaned most of the blood off of her forehead, he turned to the actual wound.

Here he proceeded with utmost care, warning her, "This will hurt." His fingertips brushed the shrapnel that had caused the injury and she flinched, but made no sound. Glass. A shard of glass.

He brought his hands down and looked at her steadily until she lifted her gaze to his. "You've a piece of glass in the wound," he told her, "which I'm going to remove."

She nodded and squeezed her eyes shut. Very carefully, he brought his hands back to her face, and bracing his left hand across the side of her head, he gripped the fragment tightly, took a deep breath, and pulled it out.

Estrella gave a small gasp of pain, and swayed slightly. Norrington steadied her and pressed a cloth against the wound to stem the renewed gush of blood.

"You'll need to have that checked for further shards."

She nodded again, rather pale, and placed her hand across the cloth, holding it in place.

Norrington poured her a glass of water and one for himself and settled back in the chair again.

The clock resumed its' ticking.

_Fifteen..._ Surely there would have been some sign...

_Twenty-three..._She couldn't be gone.

_Thirty..._He took a shaky gulp of water and slopped most of it down his front.

_Thirty-two..._He had blood all over his coat front; he guessed it was Estrella's.

_Thirty-seven..._The Marines arrived then, breaking the monotony of the clock with their boots and voices. He told them he'd found nothing; they went to make another search.

Gillette arrived; Norrington talked to him, was unsure of what he said, knowing only that when he stopped the clock would begin again, counting all the seconds since she had gone. Gillette looked concerned, but in the end, he, too, left, and eventually Norrington sat down again.

Seconds. He began the count again.

_Twelve_...The Marines escorted the servant girls from the premises, momentarily disrupting his count. He began again.

_Three..._The men in the other room were discussing the scattered treasure.

_Eight..._They dragged the body from the doorway, made a concerted attempt to mop the blood off of the stone, but finally gave up, leaving dark, drying stains and bloody bootprints.

_Two..._Estrella poured herself more water, drowning the clock with her thirsty gulps.

_Five..._The men had reported; nothing new, nothing to say, uncomfortable under his black expression. She was not here: Norrington already knew that.

_Ten..._The men were gone. He sat back in the chair, drank the rest of the water, went to get more. Returned. Sat, played with the buttons on his cuff. Tilted back his head and hid his aching eyes from the light. The clock ticked on.

_Four hundred and forty-two..._He should be back at Fort Charles, overseeing the refugees that must surely be arriving, seeing to the wounded, making plans. His legs would not move.

_Five hundred and nine..._Surely she could not be gone. Not her. Not taken. They would find her. There were men out looking; Gillette had said that, hadn't he? He didn't recall. She would be found.

_Five hundred and thirty-eight..._It was so silent. Only the wash of Estrella's breathing, like slow waves, and the ticking of that damnable clock. Even the noise of the town had died; only the occasional scream drifted in through the windows. No one had bothered to close the door; he wondered vaguely why.

_Six hundred and sixty-seven..._And here, was Weatherby Swann. His face was pale, ghostlike, his eyes like a man just struck blind, darting hither and yon. His gaze alighted on Norrington, sitting, staring at the wall, without even the will to show that he knew the Governor was there. The two men stayed that way, keenly aware of each other, yet making no sign, listening to the infernal clicking of the clock.

"They've taken her, then?" His voice was quite his own, but somehow did not feel as if he had spoken.

"She can not be found."

Norrington acknowledged the tenacity of that fleeting faith that she was merely missing, the stubbornness with which the man clung to that hope and refused to say her gone, with a grim nod.

He stirred, as though waking from some dark sleep. The clock still ticked somewhere in that vast room, but now all that mattered was the seconds, seconds in the multiple that had passed since they had taken her and put back out to sea.

With each heartbeat, each breath he took, each word he spoke, the seconds multiplied in a damning cloud, choking him, beyond all count. Seconds in which anything, anything at all might happen to her.

He cursed all the seconds that had ever come between him and his love, all the time when he had not said what he felt, every moment that had passed since those Goddamn pirates had come into this port.

He vowed to kill them all, every last one of them, slaughter them all, not only for the crimes they were sure to commit, the things he could not, would not imagine for even a second lest he go mad, but for this regret, this helplessness they had doomed him to.

To wait, while all the seconds rushed madly past, wishing he had said something before, praying to God that there was something he could do.

And with every click of the clock, another inch of water passed beneath the _Black Pearl_'s keel, drawing her out into deeper waters in God only knows what direction with no way to pursue, nothing to chase but empty sea and the cries of her victims left broken on the sand.

Helpless.

And the seconds danced.

He stood up suddenly, wanting nothing so much as for something to do, feeling as if he might start screaming. He could not just sit here and do _nothing_. But he was not a rash man, he never had been, and after a moment, he felt his pulse slow and the helpless rage in him quiet, while the seconds ticked softly and the Governor looked on without a word. He could not simply throw boats out on the sea like a child on a puddle, he could not simply dash to her rescue like some old fairytale. These things could not be done that way. There had to be a plan, sense, logic, patience. As much as he longed to, he could not simply fly out with all haste and canvas like a hot-headed youth. He had to wait.

He did not think there could be anything harder.

He stood there for a long moment like a lost child, and then slowly, his fists unclenched and his shoulders slumped and he suddenly felt very, very weary. He looked at the Governor, who still had nothing at all to say, and then back at Estrella.

She had fallen asleep, bowed over her knees, her head loose, and Norrington smiled faintly at the brave, tired servant girl, realized that it must be rather late, but somehow, though he had counted the seconds religiously, he had not noticed the hour nor did he now feel any sleepiness, merely a burning desire to do _something_.

"You'll not be staying here tonight, I imagine?" He did not look at Weatherby as he said it.

"No, no, I..."

"You can stay with me, I've a spare room. She can stay in the servant's quarters." He gestured vaguely at the sleeping Estrella. "I have things to attend to, I cannot..."

"I should think that Lieutenants Groves and Gillette will have seen to that."

Norrington looked at him questioningly.

"They understand more than you think, you know. I was under the impression they intended to handle things tonight."

Norrington felt a sudden rush of gratitude toward them and could not find the strength to argue.

"I...I just –" He did not finish his sentence, but he did not need to.

"Yes."

Norrington walked to the doorway and stood looking out at the night. Somewhere, out there on the ocean that crashed and boiled against the rocks, the _Black Pearl_ was winging her way to some destination he could neither fathom nor follow. The seconds kept churning, snapping like bones on the air or twigs underfoot to a pursued animal. He was no longer counting. Every second was a second too many: what did it matter how many anymore?

He left the doorway silently, scooped Estrella in his arms. She did not wake and he carried her outside, not really thinking anymore, not caring about impropriety or anything else, and set her on the horse before him. Weatherby had ridden here on a hastily-saddled bay gelding; he mounted up and they rode down the lane without speaking.

Gillette would be sending men up to guard the house when they were no longer needed; he'd mentioned that as well. Norrington was slowly recalling bits of their conversation and he wondered what else he'd missed, what else he had said. He vaguely recalled telling Gillette at one point to go to Hell and he fervently hoped he had not really said that. He would have to explain, apologize. But then, perhaps that was not necessary, perhaps he understood after all, as Governor Swann had said.

Estrella's head lolled against her chest as the horse plodded wearily through the night, the scent of smoke and gunpowder still strong in the air. It did not look as if it could be at all comfortable and Norrington pulled her gently back against him, propping her head against his shoulder. She was very warm and very soft. He had one arm around her so she would not fall, the other holding the reins, and her sleeping breaths blew against his face, her soft skin against his throat.

And he wished more than anything that Elizabeth sat in her place, that she slept obliviously in his arms, that he could protect her, shelter her, hold her close. But it was Estrella that murmured in her sleep, Estrella's slack hand that touched his knee, Estrella who he held close so she would not fall, Estrella whose stomach rose and fell with gentle breaths beneath his arm.

He tipped back his head and gazed up at the smoke-strewn sky, at the stars that struggled up through the clouds. He would not make his plans tonight; that was a task for the morning. He would set his traps and chart his course and haul his sails with the dawn. For now, he must wait and watch the empty sea while the seconds kept falling, adding and multiplying and growing on themselves while that black ship moved farther and farther into uncatchable distance.

He closed his eyes, feeling a breeze begin to blow away the scent of fire that burned his throat. He closed his eyes, and behind his lids, the seconds continued to dance.

~^///^~


End file.
